Archive for the News Category

Horror Addicts Guide to Life Author Spotlight: Dan Shaurette

Posted in News with tags , , , , , on May 16, 2015 by David Watson

Dan Shaurette writes horror and dark fantasy including Lilith’s Love. For Horror Addicts Guide To Life  Dan wrote an article called Pumpkin Patch Party Recipes. In his article Dan combines his love of Halloween and cooking by giving us several ways to prepare pumpkin . To read Dan’s article along with several other articles on living the horror lifestyle, pick up a copy of Horror Addicts Guide To LifeRecently Dan was nice enough to tell us what he likes about horror:

What do you like about the horror genre?

5791268Much like good science-fiction that explores what it means to be human, I find myself attracted more to horror stories that shine a light on the dark side of humanity so we can see the ugly parts and expose the things that scare us.

What are some of your favorite horror movies, books or TV shows?

As a child of the 70’s and 80’s, my favorite memories are of the classic Hammer films, as well as the Universal monster movies. There’s too many books to list, so I’ll just cop out and say “anything by Stephen King”. As for TV, I enjoyed Tales From The Crypt and Tales From The Darkside.

In what way do you live the horror lifestyle?

It isn’t as outwardly visible as it used to be. I’m not the goth I was in my youth. I suppose it is just my morbid fascinations that I exhibit. Morbid Meals is a major part of that. Whether it be celebrating Halloween with pumpkin recipes a-plenty vs. just gorging on candies, or finding out how to make sugar skulls, etc., I am intrigued by bizarre foods and traditions.

What are you currently working on?

I’m still working on Morbid Meals recipes for Horror Addicts, and I do plan to release a cookbook for of such recipes. Story-wise, I’m working on a dark fairy-tale for our next anthology, ONCE UPON A SCREAM, which I am delighted to be editing.

Where can we find you online?

All season long, more of my recipes can be found on the HorrorAddicts blog. Also The one stop home for almost all my writing is

Come meet us at BayCon 2015!

Posted in News with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 15, 2015 by Emerian Rich



Come to the Horror Addicts Guide to Life book release party!

Friday, May 22nd

@ Baycon 2015

8:30 PM in the Stevens Creek

Hyatt Regency, Santa Clara, CA

Freebies at the door and door prizes to boot!

Plus, don’t miss getting all these signatures on your very own copy of the book.


Come meet Emerian Rich, H.E. Roulo, Laurel Anne Hill,

J. Malcolm Stewart, Loren Rhoads, Sumiko Saulson, and Lillian Csernica at

BayCon 2015

FinalFrontCoverHorror Addicts Guide to Life

Don’t miss the door prizes, favors, and your chance to see all these amazing horror personalities together in one place! :)

Books will be on hand for signing and purchase.

Kidnapped Blog: Michele Roger

Posted in News with tags , on May 14, 2015 by Horror Addicts Guest


Who’s Afraid of Edwin Pool?

A short story by Michele Roger

“Hello?,” groaned Molly, reluctantly picking up her cell after the fourth ring.  She was awake in the sense that a phone to her ear elicited a groggy greeting; but not much more.

“They caught him!  I mean, well,” Jasmine was stumbling over her words with excitement.  Molly looked at the clock.  Eleven-thirty suggested her excitement probably involved a night spent with Prince Vodka. “He’s dead!  Your stalker guy.  I just saw it on the eleven o’clock news.  They just identified him.  He tried robbing a liquor store down on Mac Ave.  He went from holding the night manager at gun point to pointing the gun at police when they answered the silent alarm.  Molly, they shot him!”

Molly sat up trying to wake herself from an exhaustion-induced sleep.  Had she heard that right?  After  two years of changing her phone number, taking short apartment leases, moving every six months and three personal protection orders, could it really be all over?  In her sleepy confused state, she looked for the remote to turn on the news.  A moment of clarity came as she looked around at her most recent apartment, stacked from floor to ceiling with fresh packing boxes newly delivered by the movers.

“That’s great news, J,” replied Molly.

“What’s wrong with you?  That creep ruined your life.  You should be celebrating!  As a matter of fact, I’m bringing over a bottle of champagne right now.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Molly struggled.  “I really appreciate it J, but the movers arrived today and I’m spent.”  In actuality, she needed to think.  There was no instant relief, no overwhelming sensation of a weight being lifted.  Was he really dead?  Somehow, this moment wasn’t turning out how she had dreamed it.  Something in her voice was pleading and Jasmine recognized the sound of insomnia and fatigue.

“Fine,” Jasmine growled.  “But I’m dragging you out for drinks tomorrow.  No excuses.  We are going to dig through your boxes until we find your hottest outfit.  And then you and me are hitting the town to enjoy your new-found freedom!”

“How about dinner at The Bay, instead?” Molly countered.  She hadn’t been out without some form of security or a heart pounding sense of fear in two years.  Dinner with her best friend sounded like a much more feasible first step towards enjoying her liberation.

“You know you’re the most boring musician on the planet, right?”

“And for your relentless patience and willingness to show your face in public with me, I will let you engrave that on my tomb stone.  It will read, ‘Molly Brennan, the world’s most boring musician.’ How does that sound?”

“Prince Charming never kissed a sleeping princess, you know.  How can Mr. Right find you unless you’re out there calling for him from some high tower, or beating him in an archery contest?  How are you ever going to have a love life eating at The Bay and wearing your faded jeans?” Jasmine asked, hoping to break Molly in her half asleep state of mind.

“I will read Sleeping Beauty to you at dinner.  See you then.”  Molly hung up.  She walked to the box-filled kitchen and looked for anything labelled ‘cups’.  No luck.  Her tv, radio and lap top were also still somewhere in the post-move heap.  Making her way to the bathroom, she stuck her head under the sink and drank.  Then, she crawled back into bed and clicked on her phone’s news app.  She read the words for herself, “Local man suspected of several stalkings of Metro-area musicians shot dead in altercation with police tonight at a Mac Ave liquor store.  Edwin Pool was pronounced dead at Detroit Medical Center…”  The article continued but Molly read and re-read the same five words over and over again.  “Edwin Pool was pronounced dead.”  Dead!  She started to laugh and to cry all at the same time and immediately fell into a worry-free sleep that she had not felt in two years.

Molly woke late the next day.  She stumbled into the kitchen and prayed to find the coffee maker easily.  As she rifled through boxes, opening them by peeling off the tape, rummaging through haphazardly and moving on to the next.  By the time she had reached box six, she decided it would be far more productive to just call for delivery.  Was there delivery coffee like there was delivery pizza?  There must be, she assured herself in a sleepy fog.  Molly plopped back on her bed and reached under the pillows to find her phone.  It wasn’t there.  She flipped over the empty laundry basket working as a makeshift nightstand but nothing.  It wasn’t under the bed.

Beginning her search in less likely places, she went into the bathroom. It wasn’t on the counter or in the medicine cabinet.  She scanned the hall.  Maybe she had dropped it?  No sign of the phone.  Moving on to the ridiculous, she looked for it in the refrigerator, next she opened each of the kitchen cupboards.  Nothing.  With a desperate need for coffee and connection to the outside world, she threw cushions off the couch, opens both doors of the washer and dryer and peek in the garbage can.  Nothing.  Molly sat on a box and replayed the night in her head.                  A faint knocking sound broke the ticker tape of unlikely spots yet to check.  Molly went to the front door.  When she opened it, no one was there.  Dear God, she thought, I’m loosing it.  She laughed out loud.  As she stood in the silent apartment, surrounded by stacks of boxes, Molly retraced her steps from the night before.  Jasmine had called, she had looked up the news report on her phone.  Edwin Pool was confirmed dead.  With that thought, a small trace of fear that she couldn’t explain ran down her spine.  He’s gone.  For good.  She had to reassure herself.

The faint knocking started up again.  This time, Molly walked slowly, listening to each rap before taking steps to locate its source.  Rap, rap, rap.  The sound was dulled and yet slightly metallic.  Rap, rap, rap.  She walked through the kitchen and into the small, box-laden dining room.  She waited and listened.  Rap, rap, rap.  It wasn’t in the living room.  She stepped into the hall.  Her heart pounded harder and it made a ringing in her ears.  Rap, rap, rap.  She followed the knocking to the bathroom.  Quickly, she threw the switch for the light and held her breath.  Everything was normal and empty, just as it had been when she walked through it with the landlord.  Her eyes searched every corner, she peeked behind the door.  No sound.  No mice.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  She stared at herself in the mirror, searching for visible signs of mental breakdown.  The lines around her eyes looked a little deeper.  Was her hair a little thinner?  She leaned over the sink, closer to the mirror to look in her eyes and the knocking came again.  She jumped back, wide eyed.  With each rap, the mirror moved ever so slightly, making her reflection minutely blurred for a split second.  She went to reach her hand out to touch the mirror when a huge thud made her jump.  The sound of Jasmine’s voice immediately followed.

“Molly?  Molly are you ok?” Jasmine called out.  Without a word, Molly ran through the kitchen and to the front door and wrapped her arms around her puzzled best friend. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all morning.  Your phone just rings and rings.  Did you forget to set up your voicemail for this new number?”  She pushed Molly off, detaching herself from her intense strong hold.  “Here,” Jasmine handed Molly a paper cup.  “I figured you could use a cup, in the event you didn’t find the coffee maker.”  Molly stood silently, watching her friend flit like a hummingbird from one thing to the next.  “I also got cleaning supplies, a new playlist on my iPod to inspire happy organization and, of course ‘Vogue’, ‘Cosmo’ and to humor you, ‘The New Yorker’.”  When she took a breath, Jasmine stood slowly and stared at Molly.  Her demeanor changed instantly as she looked at her friend standing stiff and pale.  “Oh God, what is it?”

Molly opened her mouth and instead of hearing a voice of reason and logic, she heard herself begin to cry.  Her hands began to shake.  “I can’t find my phone and I swear I left it on the nightstand after I talked to you last night.  And then,” Molly grabbed Jasmine’s hand and the two ran into the bathroom.  “Listen,” Molly whispered.

The two women stood silently in the bathroom.  Molly stood intently before the mirror, her eyes wide with anticipation.  Jasmine, bewildered whispered, “What are we listening for?”

“There’s a knocking sound coming from my mirror.”

Jasmine dropped Molly’s hand.  Her normal, indoor tone of voice returned.  “What the hell are you talking about?  It’s probably the thin walls and the neighbors having sex.”

The neighbors aren’t behind my bathroom wall, my bedroom is,” Molly replied, looking more terrified than ever.

Jasmine snorted.  “Well we all know nothing ever happens in your bedroom.  It’s gotta be your pipes.  Come on, let’s drink some coffee and look for your best Girls Night Out dress.  You clearly need a night out.”

“Seriously?” Molly asked incredulously.

“Mol, I love you but look, you’ve been on edge for a long time.  Rightfully so, in my opinion.  You’ve had a whack job following your every move and it’s enough to make everyone a little paranoid.  Your phone is somewhere in all of those boxed chaos known as moving.  Your pipes shake when too many tenants take late Saturday morning showers.  In a week you’ll be talking to me on your phone laughing about the whole thing.  Now come on.”  The two drank their coffee while sitting on boxes and staring at the enormity of the job ahead of them.

Jasmine laughed.  “Most people unpack their kitchen first.  Not my Mol.  She unpacks big Bertha and the sheet music.  Who needs necessities as long as there is beautiful music.”  She waived her hand in the air for added effect.

Molly scowled.  “My harp isn’t Bertha.  Don’t call her that.  You’ll hurt her feelings.  Her name is Bellissima.  It means ‘most beautiful’ in Italian.  For short, I’ve been calling her Bells.”

“Yeah, because naming one musical instrument after a completely different musical instrument isn’t weird or anything.”

“You’ve never liked Bells.”

“I don’t like anything that is even remotely attached to you know who.”

“I know,” Molly said quietly.  “It’s not her fault though.  Edwin Poll was just the delivery guy.  Who knew he used his job in order to meet and stalk women?”  The two were quiet, staring at the large floor harp.  The sun streamed in from the window, reflecting off its guilder gold column.

Jasmine broke the silence first, saying what they both were thinking.  “I’m glad he’s dead.”

“Me too.”  The moment was awkward.  Molly pushed a box up to the harp and started to play.  A huge smile spread across Jasmine’s face.  She tried to figure out the song as Molly’s fingers floated over the strings.

“Let me guess,” Jasmine smirked, “Handel?  No, uh Rockmoni-something.”  They were the only two classical composers she could remember from the program from Molly’s last concert.

Molly giggled, “You Are My Sunshine.”  Jasmine burst on laughing.  Molly’s giggles turned to a screech as the thick, lower octave string suddenly broke and caught her in the face.  The wire breaking under such tension recoiled and cut Molly across the face, just under her eye.    She cupped her face and went to the bathroom.  Jasmine followed.

“And you wonder why I don’t like her?” Jasmin spat.

“Strings break.  Call it a job hazard.”

“They cut you in the face?”

“Well no, that’s never happened, I admit.”

A sick sounding melody, much like that from a broken, worn down music box came lilting from the living room.  The two peered around the corner to hear the sick sounding music and watched as each string vibrated and unravelled, breaking one by one.  With each pop of the string, the two jumped.  Molly began to hyperventilate but Jasmine held her ground.

“I’m calling Jack at the studio and telling him to pick up the harp and repair it there.  You and I are going to find the antiseptic, clean you up and unpack this mess.  When the going gets tough, the tough get going.”

In four hours, the two friends had managed to unpack nearly the entire apartment.  They had a system down to a science thanks to Molly moving so many times.  With nearly everything sorted and put away, they headed into Molly’s room to decide on the outfit for the night.  Molly flopped on the bed! in a passive aggressive protest.  Jasmine ignored her and slid hanger after hanger from the left to the right.  With each swipe of the hanger she passed judgement, “boring, outdated, your mom bought it, boring, boring.  God Molly, do you own any evening wear that isn’t black?  Go crazy, try green or blue for a change.”

“Orchestra requirement. Besides, what’s wrong with black?”

Before she could answer, Jasmine swiped a dress on its hanger only half way and smiled at the possibility.  “Firstly, how about this one? Secondly, how have I never seen this before and stolen it from you?  This dress is fabulous.”

Silver and sequined, the dress sparkled making tiny rainbows on Molly’s ceiling.  “That’s not mine.  I would never, in a million years wear that,” Molly argued.  Jasmine started to protest but Molly insisted.  “Seriously, that isn’t mine.  I wonder if the movers gave me an extra box by mistake.”

“All the rest of your clothes are here.  I don’t see anything else that I don’t recognize.”  She swiped the clothes again, this time in the opposite direction and much faster.  “Weird.  All yours but this dress.  Sure you don’t want to wear it tonight?”

“More than sure,” Molly insisted.

Jasmine hung the dress back up on a hanger and proceeded her inspection of black dresses.  The silver dress fell off its hanger and Jasmine picked it up and put it back on the hanger reflexively.  Then, she started again looking through the close.  The dress fell off its hanger again.  This time, falling outside the closet.  Molly sat up and watched as Jasmine replaced it on its hanger again.  As Jasmine began to pull out a sleek black semi-formal, the window flew open opposite the closet, letting the wind blow through.  Wind swept abruptly through the bedroom and the silver dress was caught up in the air currents and landed in a wad up on Molly’s bed.

The two women stared.  Jasmine smoothed out the dress on the bed and saw there was still a tag.  She turned over the tag and there, spelled out on the Manila cardboard of the tag was the note written in bold red letters, “To Molly, Love E.”

Furiously, Molly crumpled up the dress and threw it in the trash can in the kitchen.  Jasmine was speechless.  “When was he ever in your closet?  You never told me he sent you clothes.  Why would you save that dress if it was from him?”

Molly leaned up against the kitchen counter, her head pounding as she tried to find a logical explanation.  “I didn’t save it, J.  Today is the first time I’ve ever seen that dress.”  She began to cry.  “I’m never going to be rid of him.”  Jasmine sat next to Molly, rubbing her back.  She was beginning to feel strange in the apartment.  She didn’t want to leave Molly alone.

“Its been a long day of hard work.  How about we order a pizza and have a slumber party?  I will look for your phone one more time.  Half the fun of a friend who moves all the time is discovering the best pizza place that delivers.”

As Jasmine looked for the phone, Molly stared at the dress in the trash can.  She listened for the knocking on the mirror.  Had she dreamed it all?  She rubbed the cut on her cheek.  What logical explanation was there?

“Found it!” Jasmine hollered from the kitchen.  “Woo hoo!  You left it on the stove.  God knows you can’t cook so who knows why it would be there,” she teased.  She handed Molly the cell phone.  “It says you have one recent photo.  Open it, let’s see what pictures you take while sleep walking!”

Molly stared intently at the photo she had opened.  Jasmine could have been saying any number of things, but Molly heard none of it.  She stared for several very long minutes trying to find a logical explanation.  Finally, she slid her thumb over the phone screen.  Molly opened her mouth and her voice cracked when she spoke.  “The time stamp on this picture is from twelve thirty last night.”

“Hey, you look pretty good, all sleeping and gorgeous.  It’s actually a great picture of you.  Maybe you could use it on your next album cover or something,” Jasmine smiled.  The irony was lost on her.

Molly made the situation clear.  ” J, this picture was taken at twelve thirty last night. While.  I. Was. Sleeping.”


“So, J, I live alone.  I sleep alone, as you so gently reminded me today.  Who the hell took this picture?”

Kidnapped Blog: Michele Roger

Posted in News on May 13, 2015 by Horror Addicts Guest



Chapter 4


“You know you’ve called a meeting with the right man when he brings profiles of suspects preemptively,” boasted Raphel.

“News travels fast in this department. This is this morning’s newest compilation of black souls” Jack said, handing the file to his superior. “Do you have the report on Pete? What the hell happened to a mid-level archangel? They aren’t easily off their game.”

“According to an anonymous tip, they had escaped separately but are traveling as a small group of seven. Pete was using an ambient indicator to track them when he was ambushed.”

“I thought ambient indicators were used by the living to detect the dead.”

“Pete had discovered that black souls give off a reading in the negative numbers. He had been following two of them, when the other five disarmed him, strapped him to a chair and ripped his wings from his spinal chord, leaving him for dead.”

At certain points in his career, Jack had envied the seraphim over his temporary immortality. For Pete, wings, no matter how cleverly disguised were a give away in this case. Jack was suddenly thankful for his mundane features and ability to blend in.

“There is speculation that the group are aware of the tracking ability of the ambient detector and have a defense against it. Pete should have detected seven, not two. Hence, don’t make that your primary tool in this investigation. You’re known for your way with informants and interviews. See if asking questions quietly can get you somewhere.

Since you will be undercover, Sarah can have no contact with you. That’s more for her safety than for yours. I will have a full report of where Pete left off by morning. You can leave then. Take the rest of the day to prepare.” Raphel paused and added, “Jack, once you’re sure you have the right suspects, this is an immediate termination assignment. Pete is more experienced in these elimination missions and they blindsided him. Be careful, Jack. Very careful.”


Smoke billowed out the door of the small, Chinese restaurant. When Jack entered through the glass door and past the red, velvet curtains, he had to cover his mouth to prevent himself from coughing. Patrons held chopsticks above their heads, clipping away tiny bites of smoke and popping them into their mouths. An elderly man sat at the back corner where the light was less intense and the smoke, more difficult to detect. A slender, young woman dressed in traditional silk offered Jack a pair of chopsticks as he gestured towards Mr. Kim. He took a seat in the cracked leather booth next to the man who gracefully pulled smoke into his mouth in long, smooth ribbons.

“Do you really think any of this helps, this feeding of the soul crap?” Jack asked bluntly.

“I don’t expect an atheist to understand” replied Kim, concentrating on the smoke, never taking his eyes from the cloud just above his head.

Jack, for fear of offending his friend, clicked the tips of his wooden chopsticks together, clumsily breaking up the smoke but never grabbing it long enough to make it into his mouth. His mouth gaped open, extending his tongue as he tried, clumsily to bring the smoke to his mouth. Within minutes, Kim was laughing in spite of himself. “I must hand it to you, Roman, you certainly don’t disappoint. Thank your stars that you are in heaven’s army because you are an idiot when it comes to saving your soul. You look like a giraffe.”

Jack set the chopsticks down in frustration. “I thought the Chinese were wise and above petty mockery.”

“I’m a lost cause and an exception to the rule. I fear not even my ancestors can save me for all of the trouble I’ve caused in this life.”

“Well do I have the opportunity for you. With your help, you may never have to slurp smoke out of the air again.”   Kim set down his chopsticks to give Jack his full attention. “What have you heard?” Jack wonder how much information had leaked out into the streets.

Kim leaned closer to Jack but the two men were startled by a commotion of a someone knocking over a tea tray.   They looked up. Jack moved his hand reflexively over his hip to the large knife he had sheathed. A Spreader had somehow quietly snuck his way into the restaurant undetected. Finding Jack and Kim at the back, in their dark corner seemed like the perfect opportunity for a little dinner of his own. Pulling pack his hood, pieces of the top layer of his skin attached themselves, oozing and ripped off his face because it had dried to the fabric. He bared his rotting teeth as he screamed. Patrons at the front of the house echoed in reply, throwing their chopsticks behind them in a mad rush to avoid his infection.

Spreaders did just as their name indicated. They spread the latest plague that preceded the Revelation. Their infected skin and rotting body parts spread the deadly viruses. Driven by a primal desire to eat, this particular Spreader was prone to live flesh. Harrison was frozen in fear. Jack quickly turned over their table, putting a large space between the virus carrying zombie and his informant. “Get out of here!,” yelled Jack. Kim ran for the back door.

The Spreader lunged. What he had in determination, he lacked in accuracy. Jack moved carefully, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and slowly drawing the zombie in. When he had taken it as far as he could out of the public area, he pulled his knife. He spun it in the air, tossing it from one hand to the other. It distracted his opponent. The Spreader swung at him, grasping with his bony fingers and yellowed nails. Jack ducked under the awkward wave of the monster’s arms and jumped up with the full force of his muscular thighs. Mid-air, he drove the hunting knife into the Spreaders skull. Infection, yellow and viscus ran out of the opening and down his face. For accuracy in confirming it dead, Jack twisted the knife as he landed on his feet. The skull cracked in two and its body collapsed to the floor. The Spreader jerked and writhed in the death throws. More puss soaked into the old red carpeting blanketing the floor.

When Jack looked up, he saw Mr. Kim peeking from behind the draped, red, velvet curtains leading to the hallway to the back door. “Call HazMat.”

“Already on their way, Roman,” said Kim sheepishly. His words were muffled as he drew the curtain cross his nose and mouth.

By the time Jack had wrapped the body in several garbage bags, the Hazardous Materials team had the restaurant locked down and in the fumigation process. Jack stood out the back, away from the chaos. Kim snarled and gripped his stomach. “Jack, you’’re melting. Should I call your captain? Your wife? Your priest?”

“Melting?” Jack looked down to find his skin dripping in pieces from his hands to the concrete. It was as if all of his muscles were liquifying too. He looked around searching for it. Kim looked too, desperate to help but clueless as to what they were searching for. Running to the beam of sunlight, Jack dropped to his knees, spread out his arms and lifted his face to heaven. Kim watched as the soldier’s shadow resembled that of the hilt of a sword. The sunlight enrobed and engulfed Jack. It ripped away at him violently, blindingly and for a moment, Kim couldn’t decide if he should pull Jack back into the shadows or run down the street for fear of his own life. As Jack began to glow, he yelled something that Kim could not make out. Was it Latin? Greek? He wasn’t sure. When Jack had finished the last word, the sun left as quickly and silently as it had arrived.

Jack stood up and rounded his shoulders. He slowly made his way back to Kim. The old man blinked at the approaching restored man. He was more than restored. Jack looked bigger, stronger, more formidable than he had been an hour ago. Kim was suddenly afraid. The small man began to tremble for fear Jack might blame him for the Spreader.

“The Merchant of Souls,” Kim stuttered. “That’s who you need to see. He knows all about the ones who escaped. Some say the Merchant is the devil in disguise. Others say he is one of the ancient undead who lives off those who can’t stand the torture of waiting judgement. Only a few who have met him ever come out of his castle.” His hands trembled as he stuffed them into the pockets of his silk robe. Jack patted the little man on the shoulder roughly, making him step forward for fear of falling over.

“And you’re just the man to make the proper introductions.”

“Me?! Are you crazy? Did you not hear what I told you in there? I’m not ready to die! My ancestors won’t even help me. I go with you, I go straight to hell. No way.”

“You know what they say about moving to a new place. It’s location, location, location. If the Merchant of Souls is the devil, he sounds like an important man to know.”

Kidnapped Blog: Michele Roger

Posted in News on May 12, 2015 by Horror Addicts Guest


Chapter 3


What had once been the eye sore and shame of the Midwest, the Revelation had turned to gold. Detroit had endured urban decay and social structure paralysis the day it made touring its modern day abandoned streets and factories into a tourist attraction. What the Revelation revealed were the hidden away gems under all the debris; cars. Motörheads, sadly discovered on their day of judgement that not only could they not take their beloved Dodge Chargers with them, there also was no actual highway to hell and hence, the Cadillacs, Beamers, Rams and Corvettes were rounded up by those only too happy to inherit the earth.

As Jack walked to his office in the security department, he stopped to admire the latest vehicular impounds. Last night’s discoveries had taken place in the suburbs and it was an impressive haul. In the middle of the garage sat a shiny, black mustang. Jack peeked inside the driver’s side widow. Brown leather trimmed the seats and steering wheel. He ran his fingers along the grill and winced. While most of the world was being sorted one soul at a time, it didn’t stop heaven from charging a hefty fee to its staff for a bit of joy riding. Since scenario creating was limited to living quarters while he still inhabited earth, the real, hands on thrill of driving fast down empty roads was extremely intoxicating. He stared at his own reflection in the immaculate, shining hood and the stole himself away to the office.

Jack found a stack of reports waiting for him on his desk when he sat down. He had been a sentry, a soldier and champion for heaven and through the centuries he had written on everything from papyrus to onion skin. Never the less and no matter the medium, paperwork was dull and lackluster. Raphael, blonde and boyishly handsome swooped into the room with graceful arrogance. “Join me in Michael’s office in two hours. We need to talk.” Jack looked up from behind the mound of papers at his desk surprised. “Peter Lark was found two feet from his wings. They were ripped from body and he is presently in stasis until the Revelation authority can make a decision. Raphael reiterated the two hour deadline and left as quickly as he had come in.

A recently new officer, Sam, assigned to learned the inner working of the Security office arrived next. “Excuse me, Sir but a few of us wondered if there is anything we might do to help reinstate Peter?”

Great, thought Jack, now the whole department knows. Too many stories like Peter’s made the rookies nervous and trigger happy. “Just stick to your work at hand. Peter was a good officer and we want to continue his work.” It was best advice he could give. While inspired by a constant sense of duty, he had never considered himself religious. While others might have advised to pray for their comrade injured in the line of duty, Jack didn’t. It wasn’t soldier-like to beg and plead. Heaven made its decisions and they were final. Praying was obsolete.

Sam nodded as if he understood his orders and added, “Rumor has it a black soul is to blame.”

It wasn’t surprising. Human life had been breaking through evolutionary boundaries for centuries. There was talk that some had broken out of the sorting area, refusing to be judged for fear of eternal agony. He had seen it through the years in heaven’s army; people who were staring genocide of the face had nothing to lose in their attempt to escape. The black souls were no different.

“There is a big shake up in the sorting facilities. Protocol and procedures are being re-examined.” Sam took Jack’s lack of response as indifference for gossip and left. With quiet restored to his office, he took a moment to look up the secret growing number of known black souls.

The suspects had commonalities. The majority were uneducated who had worked as general laborers or thieves. Criminal records, addiction and mental instability were also common factors. The traits suggestion rebellion but not necessarily a well thought out plan, organized and successfully seen through to fruition. Jack sifted through the individual files, case by case. He shuddered to think if any of them acquired the ability to create scenarios. The harm that could be done was staggering and could lead to the conversion of innocent people. Black souls were wolves to the lambs and Jack knew he would answer the call if he was tapped to hunt the hunters. His military instinct began to kick into overdrive and he knew walking into a meeting with his superiors in an agitated state certainly wouldn’t do anyone any good, including himself.

Distraction presented itself in the form of the digital security feed from the garage. He zoomed in on the mustang from different angles, read the specs on its ability to go from zero to sixty, the street tire performance reports, it collecting value. He checked himself by zooming in on the price tag. You can’t take it with you, Jack, he told himself. Not even a soldier of heaven was permitted material good transport after the Revelation was complete. Still, was it so terrible to enjoy a little of his time remaining? He thought of Peter. No one ever knew when their number was up. – KIDNAPPED!

Posted in News with tags , , , , on May 11, 2015 by Emerian Rich

halogokidnappedIt’s that time of year again when all the little Horror Addicts here at the home office travel to BayCon to see those of you in person that can attend. We always have a wonderful time and we encourage you to join us this year especially for our Horror Addicts Guide to Life release party! Check the program for details.

For those of you left behind, don’t worry, we didn’t forget about you! From May 10th – June 6th, you will not go horror-free. OH NO! We have a group of horror aficionados here to entertain you.

May 10-16 = Michele Roger

micheleMichele Roger is the author of “Dark Matter” and “The Conservatory”; both horror novels.  She also hosts her own podcast of short stories called “Something Wicked This Way Strums”.  When Michele isn’t writing, she is performing as a solo harpist as well as in the ensemble “Bellissima Musica”.  You can find both her writing and her music at

May 17-23 = Selah JanelselahWhen Selah isn’t on her soapbox about genre, she’s usually trying to write it, hoping someone will take her seriously. Check out her blog, or find her on Facebook or Twitter.

 May 24-25 = Jaq D. Hawkins

229085_6404925951_5488_nJaq D. Hawkins was originally traditionally published in the Mind, Body, Spirit genre, but moved to indie publishing soon after releasing her first Fantasy fiction novel. She currently has five novels released which include the Goblin Series (Dark Fantasy) and The Wake of the Dragon (Steampunk Adventure). A dark science fiction novel is in progress, as well as further writings in occult subjects, some of which continue to be traditionally published while others are destined for the indie market.

May 26-30 = Rebecca Besser
Rebecca BesserRebecca Besser resides in Ohio with her wonderful husband and amazing son. They’ve come to accept her quirks as normal while she writes anything and everything that makes her inner demons squeal with delight. She’s best known for her work in adult horror, but has been published in fiction, nonfiction, and poetry for a variety of age groups and genres. Find out more about her:
May 31-Jun 6 = C. A. Milson

Picture of me 7C.A.Milson grew up in Brisbane, Australia. He is the author of 5 books; Indie Film Director/Producer; Publisher; and Marketing Consultant. His books include; “Rise Of The Darkness”; “Bloodline Of Darkness”; “Pick Up The Phone” (Under his real name of Chris Jackson); Izbranny (Russian version); and “Not So Ordinary Girl” (which he co-wrote with well-known sports entertainment writer, J.D.Rebel).

Kidnapped Blog: Michele Roger

Posted in News on May 11, 2015 by Horror Addicts Guest



Chapter 2


In a crumbling, Ann Arbor Victorian that had once housed up to thirty university students in its co-op hay day, a lonely monitor flashed and jostled with color and mesmerizing rhythms, selling soul redemption charms and potions for the desperate waiting for their shot at the Revelation.

The house, once a hub for higher education along with thc-induced enlightenment had become swallowed up by urban decay. What remained were what looters had seen unfit for survival or profit. Dirty, handmade rugs sprawled across termite infested wood floors. Birds flew in and out of the holes in the roof. In the war-like conditions of the Revelation, the swooping in of judgement soldiers and the gathering of people in the middle of the night, the city streets were filled with debris. A pair of tennis shoes at the empty bus station gave the impression the person wearing them had so violently been taken that he or she had been ripped away from their very shoes. Banks, grocery stores, the University of Michigan and its many buildings all lay silent as a tomb. Mother Nature began to slowly reclaim what had been pillaged from her at the dawn of the human technological advancement. No animal nor vegetation seemed to miss humanity.

War, famine and pestilence had struck for decades, whittling down the population. The survivors, hardened to suffering, hadn’t noticed the Revelation at first. Final judgement started small like a snowball tumbling down the top of a mountain. Tiny villages like Hum, Croatia and Cayman Brac disappeared without anyone noticing. Ancient civilizations had evaporated much in the same, mysterious way.

News sources in Africa and the Netherlands began to report the disappearances of entire towns and then cities. The alarming reports hit the Internet and then the larger news agencies like the BBC and CNN. Soon, images of a category five hurricane swallowing up entire communities flashed across every screen in the world. When it passed, the town residents had vanished without explanation. Every once in a while, a few survivors could be found climbing their way out from under the rubble.

When interviewed, many described an invasion, soldiers, people gathered up and taken away, families separated. Experts were called in. Survivors were deemed victims. Those who were left behind were diagnosed with everything from head trauma to delusions to post traumatic stress disorder.

His Holiness the Reverend Father Jacob Marley was arranging his purity potions in the front room window of the old Victorian on State Street. He had been released from the mental ward after two weeks of observation after surviving the Ann Arbor invasion. “Travelers”, those too afraid to stay in one place for too long for fear of being taken away in the Revelation often were drawn to the empty places of previously judged cities. Fearing some sort of end of the world, many stopped into Jacob’s shop of sorts to buy tonics and pills that might purify their soul and make them more worthy of heaven.

Prior to the Revelation, Jacob had been a drifter. He had left school to pursue his passion for hallucinogens and weed. When odd jobs and manual labor failed to meet his life expectations, he had found a calling in the emulation of religion and growing things. The hippie, reverend/farmer life combined with his passion for like minded women and a smattering of leadership skills had brought him to Ann Arbor. He spent many nights talking for hours about the mind-opening benefits of marijuana and Silvia to eager university students. Religion in all forms had been a sort of bedfellow that gave him credibility and a way to rise in social status above the average pot head. He signed up for every online religious certification he could get. Somewhere along the way, he believed in all or most of it. When they pulled him out of the debris, he fervently declared his pure lifestyle had saved him. He set up shop and waited in the glow of the dying Internet for the chosen people to come to him.

“Revelation count has risen today” said a tired looking anchorwoman. She looked as if she had been repeating the same sentence and reporting the same story for her whole life. “Here is the latest from the most recent incidences in Detroit.”

A wide shot camera angle zoomed in as it tracked a small girl bursting out of a metal door and running into the arms of her mother. “I just couldn’t imagine that heaven could be all it was promised unless she was with me,” confessed the overjoyed woman as she held the little girl tight. “We had been watching the ads on the Revelation channel about voluntary judgement. I agonized for weeks whether or not it was the right thing to do. Now, I’m so glad we came to this judgement facility. My baby and I are headed to eternal happiness.” She smiled sincerely for the camera as the narration of the reporter chimed in.

“Meanwhile, in a separate facility just down the road, this happy reunion is something that will never come to fruition. Our cameras and crew were held back at the gate of this much larger judgement facility. Upon investigation, we were able to use our highly advanced audio equipment to capture these sounds coming from the far most building near the wooded area.”

Jacob turned from his potion arranging to stare at the blank computer monitor. He strained to hear the faint sounds of screams and protests. Pleas for mercy came next as parents begged to spare their children and spouses tried to cling to one another. Then, the sounds of tasers and stun guns ripped through the darkness. The reporter continued as a few blurry images flashed upon the screen.

“A source who wishes to remain anonymous has said that a few of the condemned have been seen clinging to the barbed wire fences making attempts to escape what they call the Damnation facility. We asked Revelation spokesman Mary Hughes about the anonymous statement but she refused to comment.”

Jacob shuttered to think about it. He walked to the stack of pallets where the monitor rested and shut off the computer. The sound of the birds chirping in the trees and the light wind blowing filled the old house. For a moment, he felt as though he were the last man on earth. A gut wrenching terror traveled down his spine. Soon he might be just that. What if no one else escaped? What if every person was judged and sorted on Earth and he was the only meek man to inherent the lonely earth? Anxiety turned to panic, engulfing Jacob in thick tar of sticky, stifling depression. He gasped for air as his heart raced. Purposefully making his way past the colorful bottles in the window, he thumbed through an old cigar box for a blunt that might settle him down. Ashes from previously smoked joints covered the tips of his shaking fingers. He blinked as his search became more frantic until he finally found what he was looking for. A small, unfinished marijuana end had gotten stuck in the crevice of the corner of the box. He pinched the minuscule end between his lips with the help of his teeth and lit the end which sat dangerously close to his face. Jacob inhaled deeply and passionately, begging the drug to enter into him, much like that of the Holy Spirit and take away his sadness. He drew in deep, meditative breaths until there was nothing left between his lips but the smoldering remains of a few shreds of paper. A slight comfort washed over and through his mind and his heart rate began to return to normal. “Amen” he whispered.

He sat down and closed his eyes, reminding himself of his place in the universe and his belief that peace came to those who believed that everything would be cool if people could just chill. He listened to the sound of his breath. It flowed in and out in counterpoint time with the latest bird song. Somewhere, off in the distance was the faint sound of something Jacob had nearly forgotten. He was one with it. The holy smoke that he had allowed into his body told him to be one with the approaching noise. It grew louder and Jacob could feel himself opening up to the joy within. Someone was coming. Someone with a car. There was no need to fear. The universe heard his anxiety and was providing. He opened his eyes and got to his feet, making his way to the filthy bathroom. If a traveller was coming, he had better make sure he looked presentable. Tying back his long dreadlocks and changing into a clean t-shirt, Jacob picked up a folding chair and sat in the window just behind his colorful, soul purifying potions bottles. He was ready for his first follower to enter the temple of enlightenment.


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